ANNIE

Gran has us both in green aloe masks with cucumbers over our eyeballs in a few minutes. She’s brought up a pot of tea, a couple of teacups, and a small jar of honey arranged on a cute silver tray.

“Comfortable?” she asks as I squirm into position.

“Not really. My skin feels like it’s splitting off my face, and the cucumbers are frozen solid, and—”

“Beauty is pain, darling.”

“I thought we were past the days of getting all dolled up for men.”

“Whatever made you think this was about men?” Gran turns toward me, both of us peeking out from under the cucumbers. “This isn’t about men at all. This is about pampering yourself.”

I lay back and close my eyes. I’m annoyed, and it’s not fair to take things out on Gran—she’s just trying to help. I’m not happy with how things ended with Cohen.

“What happened downstairs?” Gran asks. “It seemed like you two were getting along so well.”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t eavesdropping.”

“I heard the ending, and that was enough awkward for me.”

“I didn’t say anything wrong!”

“Okay then, dear. Whatever you say.”

I fall silent, replaying the conversation in my head. “Was I a jerk?”

“You tell me.”

I sit up and pop the cucumbers off my eyelids. “I didn’t try to hurt him.”

“I know that, dear.”

“He really shouldn’t care what I think. We barely know each other.”

“He hasn’t tried to kiss you?” Gran readjusts a cucumber so that it rests on her forehead. “Seems like there’s chemistry.”

“How’d you guess about the kiss?”

“I’m old. I know these things.” Gently, she removes the other cucumber from her eye and sits up straighter. She preens, glancing at a set of shiny red toes before stretching her arms and letting out a long, loud yawn. “It’s clear the two of you like each other, so why don’t you let him take you out on a date?”

“I don’t like him.” I mean to say this firmly, but it comes out a little stuttery. “I can’t like him.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because...” I trail off, my cheeks burning at the way my conversation with Cohen ended. “I have my reasons.”

“Because women like you don’t date guys like him?” Gran raises an eyebrow at me. “I can guarantee that’s the way he heard it.”

“I tried to clarify! That’s not what I meant.”

“Men are stubborn, among other things. He heard it one way, so it’ll be hard to convince him otherwise.”

“Well, he’s not my type, anyway. I’d prefer someone more like Gramps.” I lapse into silence. It feels like yesterday he was here, reading beside me, the two of us sharing my Gran’s perfect hot chocolate by the fireplace. “Grandpa was smart and gentle, mostly. Kind. Really funny when he felt like it.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” Gran’s smile is paper thin on her lips. Her eyes, however, hold a burst of starlight in them. “He was something else.”

“He wasn’t like Cohen.”

“What’s Cohen like?”

“Cohen is...” I try to think of something to prove my point, but I can’t.

The first picture that pops into my mind is the one from this morning during swimming lessons. He’d taken one of the babies in his class and splashed around the pool, singing songs and making silly faces.

It was odd seeing Cohen like that, in a different element. Gentle, despite his playful grin and colorful arms littered with tattoos.

I feel my face flush. Gran’s watching as all of these thoughts flash across my face, and I force myself to stop thinking about him.

“I see,” Gran says. “No need to say more.”

“He’s... he doesn’t have a stable job. He travels a lot for hockey, so he’ll be gone all the time. One day he won’t be able to play anymore—what then? And he does dumb things!”

“Like serenading you on the street in a Superman robe?”

“Yes!”

“He has a horrible voice,” Gran says. “Truly awful.”

“Terrible.”

“Is that everything?” Gran asks with a raised eyebrow. “Can I talk now?”

“Oh, um. Okay.”

“Your grandfather wasn’t always responsible.”

“Are we talking about the same guy? Gramps had everything organized down to his sock drawer. He wouldn’t ever stay out after nine p.m. on a work night. He paid the bills, went to work every day, came home every evening.”

“Yes, later in life. Once we had kids—your mother and her siblings—to think about.”

“My mother always told me that I shouldn’t expect a man to change. If he doesn’t treat me with respect before we’re married, then it’s only going to get worse after.”

“I agree one hundred percent.” Gran gives a nod. “Good advice from your mother.”

“Sorry, then I don’t understand your point.”

“What’s Cohen done to you? You don’t trust him?”

“He yanked my noodle out from underneath me on the first day of class.”

“Did he pull your pigtails, too?”

“It’s not that simple! You know I’m terrified of water.”

“He believed in you. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t do anything at all—so what if he pushed you a little?”

“I hated it!”

“He made a mistake underestimating your fear of water. Did he apologize?”

“Well, yes—”

“Has he done it again?”

“No, but—”

“I’m not telling you whether you should let Cohen take you out on a date or not—that’s up to you, honey. What I am trying to tell you is that sometimes, men act out in certain ways, and it’s not a reflection of who they really are on the inside.”

“Are you trying to set me up with Cohen?”

“The day I met my husband was his first day out of jail.”

“What?” I gape at my grandmother. “Gramps?”

“Well, yes. I was only married once, of course.”

“But... he would never do anything to get put in jail.”

“I was a waitress at the diner near my parent’s house when we met. I remember the day like it was yesterday,” she says, sounding quite dreamy indeed. She ignores my expression of complete and utter shock. “Your grandfather waltzed into that diner with three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have enough money to buy breakfast, so he bought a piping hot cup of coffee.”

“Jail?”

“I’m getting there! First, we got to talking. That’s how I learned that he’d gotten in with the wrong crowd of friends.”

“How have I not heard this story?”

“Let me finish!” Gran shushes. “He was hanging out with a couple of guys from high school. The others wanted to steal a twelve pack of beer from the local gas station. Your grandfather had no interest in breaking the law, so he stayed in the car.”

“Sounds more like grandpa to me.”

“But the idiots your grandfather had been hanging out with made a mistake. The cops came, caught them, and somehow, the blame landed on your grandfather. He was just eighteen, and the cops made him spend the night in jail as a lesson against shoplifting.”

“That is so unfair! Grandpa would never do anything like that.”

“This isn’t a lesson in the justice system, it’s a lesson in getting to know a person,” Gran says, playing with the stack of cucumbers on the tray next to her. “When your grandfather came to the diner, all I knew was that the man sitting there was as poor as dirt and fresh out of jail.”

“I can see how it was a little misleading.”

“It might have been, but when he asked if I’d sit down with him, I had to make a decision. Take a chance, or play things safe?”

“I’m guessing you took a chance?”

“I was working! I told him if he held onto his shorts, I’d join him for lunch.”

I cover my mouth with a hand and suppress a laugh. “Your first date was lunch, then?”

“It started there, but we talked straight through dinner, drinks, and a midnight coffee. A week later we were dating, six months later engaged.” She pauses to wipe her face with the back of her hand. “I never stopped loving him. I still do, honey. Some days, I find myself wishing he’d walk right through the door of that diner again so we could start over and do it all again.”

My eyes sting. I blink quickly, then struggle to swallow until I trust myself to speak. When the lump in my throat is nearly gone, I reach over and squeeze Gran’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I spent over sixty years with a man I loved more than I ever thought possible. I’m not sure how many people can say that.” She clears her throat, leans over, and pops the pedicure toe separator onto the floor. “But I didn’t pull you up here to talk about me, believe it or not. I brought you in here to tell you my story, in case it means something to you.”

“What do you want me to say? I hardly know Cohen.”

“Your grandfather was a stranger the day he walked into the diner. If I’d told him that nice, hard-working girls like me didn’t date jailbirds like him, I would’ve never found my other half. If I hadn’t taken that chance, maybe you wouldn’t be here today.”

“How’d you know it was the right thing to do?”

“I didn’t know if it was right or wrong, but I did it anyway. All I knew was that there were little butterflies in my stomach when we started talking. They lasted—well, forever. I still have them when I think about the times we shared together.”

“That is so sweet.”

“Just because a person is spontaneous doesn’t make them irresponsible, and just because they make you heat up inside and feel like the world is flipping over every time you see them, it doesn’t mean they can’t be gentle. Kind. Honest.”

“I suppose.”

“Your Gramps taught me how to have fun, how to lighten up and enjoy the little things. I used to be uptight, you know. More uptight than him. We changed together.”

“Really?” I can’t picture my sparkling, tube-sock-wearing, thong-displaying grandmother being anything but vibrant. “I don’t believe it.”

“Your grandfather didn’t try to change me. The point of getting married, of sticking with one person for your whole life, is to learn these things together. To grow and change as a unit, not as an individual.”

“What if it’s too late for us to even have a chance? I think I pissed him off.”

“I don’t think you pissed him off, I think you hurt his feelings. He just didn’t want you to know that.”

“Oh, great. Even better.”

Gran grins. “Is he dead?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then it’s not too late!”

“I won’t see him for another week.”

“Well, then either you wait for a week, or you chase him down. We’re past the days of having to get dolled up for men.” Gran rolls her sleeves up and flexes her shiny new nails. “Get dolled up for yourself and go after what you want.”